The Pieces of a Whole
by Lillielle
Summary: Disclaimer: I own nothing. For the 12 Days of Christmas Style challenge and the Connect the Characters challenge. 1-Luna/Harry, a walk in the Forbidden Forest. 2-Harry/Bellatrix, a rather...interesting moment. 3-Bellatrix/Hermione, Mistress with her pet. 4-Hermione/Harry, life's too empty to fall. 5-Harry/Ginny, no one suspects her. 6-Ginny/Bellatrix, she should have known better.
1. Forest Contemplations

_A/N: For the 12 Days of Christmas Style Challenge and the Connect the Characters challenge._

_Pairing: Luna/Harry._

"It's funny, you know," you tell him, crunching through the fallen leaves with your bare feet.

"What's funny?" Harry eyes you, raising one eyebrow in that skeptical way he has, although you think that is more directed to your missing shoes than anything else.

"Life," you gesture at the fringe of the Forbidden Forest around you, nearly catching one of the thestrals following you in the nose with a hunk of raw meat. It snaps affectionately at your fingers and you give it the treat, giggling as its tongue laps at your skin. "People. They all think they know what's best, and it turns out none of them do."

"Someone must know," he disagrees with you, sticking his hands in his pockets. You tilt your head and study him, the way his shoulders scrunch inward, the worry-line creasing his forehead, right across the lightning bolt.

"No," you shake your head, your radish earrings bobbing against your cheeks. "People know _pieces_ of it. But that's the thing. Pieces aren't the whole."

"I suppose," he trails off, still looking doubtful. You smile anyway. He hasn't dismissed you as mental, that's the important thing, and the reason you went up to him in the first place, four months ago, and asked him, in the most forthright manner you could manage, if he'd like to go to Hogsmeade with you to find the fairy webs. You were both surprised when he said yes.

"Come on," you say, wiping your fingers off on your skirt and smiling airily. "It's time for dinner." As you walk back up to the castle, Harry entwines his fingers with yours, and you feel something prickle deep inside, the most content feeling you've known since your mum died.

"And Luna?" Harry remarks, out of the blue. You look up at him serenely, wondering what he'll say. "Let's find your damn shoes," he says, exasperated as he tugs you up the steps. Your giggles trail after you like soap bubbles as he pulls you after him.


	2. Throw It All Away

_Pairing: Harry/Bellatrix_

_Warnings for teenage masturbation :p_

It's ridiculous. He knows it is. More than ridiculous-it's stupid, foolish, disturbing, any negative adjective he can fling at his overworked brain. It's _wrong_, that's the main thing, and yet he can't push the image of her out of his head.

Bellatrix Lestrange. The Dark Lord's lieutenant, the murderer of his godfather, one of the most deranged and evil women it has ever been his misfortune to dream of...and all he can think is what she'd look like in only her knickers.

He presses his head against the window, the cold leeching away the flushed sweatiness of his face as he takes a deep breath and looks down on the snow-bleached grounds. It is winter holidays and for the moment, he is the only one in the dormitory.

He also has a rather...pressing problem, he thinks and looks awkwardly down at the bulge in his trousers. He glimpsed a picture of Bellatrix in the Daily Prophet earlier (the usual tripe of "have you seen this woman?"), and now he can't stop thinking of what it would be like if she kissed him, mashing his lips back against his teeth as she crooned what a naughty boy he was, as she ripped off his clothes and discarded her own. What it would feel like to be inside her, to caress her, to pinch and bite her and intertwine pain with pleasure (her pain, of course, and his pleasure-despite his fantasies, Harry is not really a masochist). The feel of her breasts against his chest, her wild, dark eyes burning into his as she shrieks his name to the stars above, no longer laughing and calling him a little boy, but accepting that he is more, he will always be more, he will make her _his_...

With a groan and ragged breath, Harry spills himself into his trousers, palming himself through the fabric and pulling his hand away like it's been scalded. He mutters a hasty cleaning charm, his cheeks burning hectic red once more. He can't have just done that, he assures himself, and rushes downstairs to find someone else, anyone else.

Anything to destroy the realisation that if he had the chance, he'd throw it all away for one night spent with _Bellatrix._


	3. Until The Day We Die

_Pairing: Bellatrix/Hermione_

_Warning: Dubious consent, coercion, Stockholm Syndrome_

_Notes: Inspiration from Abney Park's "Until the Day You Die."_

"Until the day you die," Bellatrix whispers in Hermione's ear. "You are mine until the day you die."

"Yes," Hermione whispers, nothing more than the exhalation of another breath. She remains on her knees, as she has been taught, her eyes closed, only the barely perceptible shift of her muscles proof that she has not somehow died as she kneels.

"Good girl," Bellatrix smiles, her dark eyes flashing. "Rise."

Hermione stands obediently, not even shifting from foot to foot as her Mistress circles her, eyeing the slender form, the mane of bushy brown curls that cascades down the seventh-year's back, the downcast amber eyes. The collar that gleams silver around her throat, set with the largest emerald Hermione had ever seen before. It sparks wicked fire at Bellatrix, who can't help but smirk.

"Perfect," Bellatrix murmurs, attaching a fine silver leash to the metal loop that protrudes just underneath the emerald and tugging her pet forward just a bit. Hermione stumbles for a moment before following, her arms bent behind her back.

Bellatrix can't help but admire the pretty brown-haired Mudblood as she follows Bellatrix down the corridor, to the throne room. What an acquisition she was-procured by the Snatchers only a few short months ago and delivered to Bellatrix as a present. Scabior had even tied a big green bow around the girl's neck, and Bellatrix had been too amused to do more than a mild Crucio.

Her precious Potter has tried to save her more than once, but every time, he retreats, empty-handed and defeated. The desolation evident in even his posture is delicious, and spurs Bellatrix onto new heights with her newly acquired pet.

It's taken time-so much precious time-but Hermione Granger is as sweetly biddable as any long-tamed pet now. The old days of fighting and screaming and sobbing until her throat shredded are gone-hopefully for good. And what a beautiful creature she is-Bellatrix may despise those with filthy blood, but even she must admit that some of them look so _delectable_.

"In here," Bellatrix gestures, and Hermione slips in the great double doors before her Mistress. Voldemort is already there, perched on his throne, awash in crimson silk that glitters like blood in the torch-light.

"Pretty pet you have there, but can she perform?" the Dark Lord inquires idly, his maroon eyes burning into Bellatrix's soul. She nearly falls to her knees, weeping in gratitude, before remembering her place.

"Oh, yes, my Lord," her smile is vulpine. "Our little Mudblood performs quite well."

"Then let the show begin," Voldemort hisses, and the room is plunged into darkness.

_Until the day I die,_ echoes through Hermione's mind, and she is lost.


	4. Free-Fall

_Pairing: Hermione/Harry_

_Warning: suicidal ideation_

It's supposed to be like a painting, a picture-perfect idyll with blue skies and not a cloud in sight. Where the trees don't bend and warp with chaos, where the grass doesn't die as the tramp of metal-hilted boots echoes over it.

It's supposed to be, but she knows it never will. The war echoes on, and Hermione's tired of it. So very tired, and there's not an end in sight. Voldemort laughs at their efforts, but why wouldn't he? They're children, fighting a war that can never be won, and their leader is a sacrificial lamb for Dumbledore's ideals. At one point, she would have called her own thoughts traitorous, near blasphemous. Now she only sighs and admits the truth of them.

The only thread that Hermione can hold onto is Harry himself, and what monstrous creature is she, to beg so much of the boy who has nothing left to give? She can see it in his eyes, the emerald has dulled into blank green glass, the shadows that haunt them dark like mist. She pastes on her smile, raises her wand, acts like she has something left in her head beyond roaring emptiness and black-fogged sadness, like she is the know-it-all she's always been, like she has something to live for. Sometimes she goes walking with Harry and Ron, the latter making jokes in too-loud a voice, and she exchanges all-too-knowing glances with Harry behind the redhead's back, knowing what goes unsaid in those brief glimpses, in the laughter that's just a bit too hollow.

They're children, but they've been forced to grow up at lightning speed, and Hermione can't keep up with the changes anymore. She takes to wandering through the castle at night, tiptoeing to the edges of the towers and peering over at the shadow-strewn ground, wondering what would happen if she let go, if free fall is really as freeing as everyone says it is. Her words stick in her throat, choking her, as she tells Harry that she'll always be there for him and wonders what happens when you lie to the wizarding world's saviour.

But it's enough, it has to be enough, and as Harry links hands with Hermione and they stand atop the wall, gazing into the stars, into the night that seems never-ending, she swears that she won't stop until the last breath crushes her lungs. Maybe by then, the world will be safe, and she'll have the right to fall.


	5. Sweet, Innocent Ginny

_Pairing: Harry/Ginny_

_Warning: Dark themes_

_Notes: Song lyrics from Aviators: "Her Darker Side"_

_Perhaps a little crazy  
But not insane  
She has only got  
Her magic to blame_

Sweet, innocent, little Ginny. So _distraught_ by what happened with the diary. So overwhelmed, a sobbing little mess of a girl, when it comes out that she was possessed by Tom Riddle's diary. The tears that shimmer in my eyes are genuine, but the cause is so much more tainted than anyone else suspects.

How _dare_ they.

Oh sure, he got more carried away than I wanted him to, and I'm not happy about that, believe me, I'm not. Of course I intended to help him rise again, but not to _die_ in the process. I thought he actually knew what he was doing-doesn't it figure he didn't?

But then it all went wrong and in the midst of it, Harry became the hero and I the poor, bewitched victim. And no one thought to question why I'd spent so long writing back to a diary that was clearly not all it seemed.

It's all Harry's fault. And I'm going to make him pay.

He still thinks I'm the stammering, shy-eyed little fangirl, you see. Oh, he'll be sure to let me down gently, tell me in his awkward boyish fashion that he doesn't "like me that way." And I'll flush and cry and pretend I never liked him like that, when everyone knows I do.

It will be such a pity when my hand slips over his morning pumpkin juice and he ingests that love potion. It's one of the strongest on the market, you know. And I paid for a few extra tweaks. Difficult to slip into Knockturn Alley when you're twelve years old, but I managed.

And there Harry will be, hopelessly in love with me, and I'll spurn it-of course, how could I do otherwise? I'll cry on my friends' shoulders, assume that he's simply toying with me.

And then the real fun will start. And no one will suspect me-then again, they never, ever do.


	6. Empty

_Pairing: Ginny/Bellatrix_

_Warning: Stockholm Syndrome, very dubious consent._

The words tear painfully at her throat, but she says them anyway, red hair whipping around her face, her eyes lost in the distance.

"I submit to you, Mistress," she whispers, and the world flashes green.

When Ginny opens her eyes again, she realises that she is not on the grounds of battle-sieged Hogwarts anymore. Instead, she is standing in the middle of the most opulent-looking bedchamber she's ever seen in her life. With a twinge of unease, she realises this is _Bellatrix's_ bedchamber, and her blood runs cold.

"Do you like it, little blood traitor?" Bellatrix purrs and Ginny nods woodenly, too afraid to do anything else. "_He_ said you would," Bellatrix confides, throwing herself down on the side of the bed and kicking her shoes off with a little sigh.

"He?" she speaks up, unable to stop herself.

"The Dark Lord, of course," Bellatrix replies, as if speaking to a simpleton. "Or as you knew him-Tom Riddle." She giggles, and the sound makes Ginny feel sick. "Oh yes, you loved him, didn't you? In his...school days. He was _so_ good at keeping the mask on then, but we all knew. Everyone knew. He had the power..." She trails off, a wistful look crossing sharp-boned features.

"He remembers you, you know," Bellatrix continues, smirking. Ginny catches her breath, despising herself for it, yet unable to stop. "Poor little Ginevra. You poured out your heart and soul to him, didn't you? Oh, you were so _boring_, but you gave your soul to him, didn't you? And you never got it back. And now..." Bellatrix gets up, pacing toward Ginevra on stocking'ed feet. "Now, you've handed it away to _me_."

Trembling, Ginny nods.

"You don't touch my family," Ginny reminds her, but Bellatrix only laughs.

"Right, right," she says, flicking her wand at Ginny, who slams against the wall, pinned spread-eagled by invisible restraints. "But then, you can't exactly stop me, now can you?"

"You promised!" Ginny cries, straining against the bonds. "You _swore on your magic_!"

"See, here's the thing," Bellatrix grins, twirling her wand. "I said I wouldn't physically touch them, my dearest pet. I said nothing about using _magic_."

And with a sardonic bow, Bellatrix blinks out of existence, back to the battlefield, presumably-_Ginny sags in despair_-to destroy her family.

It feels like eons before Bellatrix returns, blood-flecked and vicious, and bearing a handful of wands, that clatter at Ginny's feet.

"You hate me now," Bellatrix says dispassionately, looking at the red-headed girl pinned to her wall. "But don't worry, pet. I guarantee within a month, you'll be kneeling at my feet, your mind as empty as your family tree."

Ginny spits at her, defiant to the last, but with a sneaking, terrible suspicion, blooming deep within her mind, that her new Mistress is correct.


End file.
